House Without a Home
by BetterThanCoffee
Summary: Mako and Bolin find themselves on the street, and Mako wonders if he will be able to keep his brother alive.


**A/N: This was a very hard story to write. Unlike my other FFs, which I crank out in an hour, I was very stuck on this one. I inadvertently mirrored Mako finding his parents with how I found my own mother when she died, so I apologize if this is rougher than usual – apparently I am more emotionally constipated than I thought. I also rushed to finish this, as I was really just done with this story, and couldn't write it anymore. Sorry if this sucks worse than usual. **

Republic City was bustling. The citizens were rushing to and from work, trying to cram a world's worth of effort into the fraction that was their meager lives. Benders and non-benders alike would stride forward, heads to the ground, unaware of anything outside of their own revolutions. The city was prosperous, and to keep the glory of Republic City alive, the people moved non-stop in a chaotic dance. They were surely too busy to notice two starving children huddled for warmth around a steam vent in an alley behind a noodle shop.

While the steam kept the brothers, Mako and Bolin, warm, the tantalizing scent of peanut sauce and starchy pasta cooking was a new level of torture. It had been three days since either of the boys had more than a bit of rain water settle to the bottom of their stomachs. Mako, the elder brother, was the patriarch of their little, broken family, and therefore it was his duty to make sure his younger brother could survive in the lonely city. Mako was only nine-years old, surely far too young to be a father, and yet his brother looked up to him as if to replace the one they had lost. Mako was not a god. He could not help his brother. Mako was just a scared little boy who missed his mommy and daddy.

"Mako, I'm hungry," Bolin sniffed out. Even though his face was buried in his hunched up knees, he could not hide from his brother that he was crying.

"I know, Bolin," Mako answered, resolutely ignoring his brother's tears.

"Where's Mom and Dad?"

"They're gone."

Bolin looked up at his brother, his face glistening from the precious water that fell from his eyes. Mako had to look away. "When will they be back?"

Mako closed his eyes as tears were threatening to form. He would not cry. He couldn't. It had only been five months since his parents were murdered. In that time, Bolin had never stopped asking where they were. Bolin knew his parents were dead – he had to. He witnessed the same horrors Mako had. Both had seen the blood, and yet Bolin kept asking, as if Mako could magically solve everything as older brothers are wont to do. Even Mako couldn't solve this problem.

Without answering Bolin's plea, Mako rose to his feet, keeping his back to his little brother. "Come on, Bolin. We need to find some food."

Mako hated seeing his brother hungry. The cute, chubby little boy was gone. Bolin's face had gotten so gaunt, that it had become the shadows' playing field. Every rumble of Bolin's stomach just reminded Mako how much he had failed his baby brother. Bolin deserved to be tucked into a warm bed at night, his mother and father regaling his with tales of the avatar, instead of sleeping in a damp gutter, huddled to his brother for warmth.

Secretly, in the dead of night where no one but the spirits would know his shame, Mako would fanaticize about finding a nice family willing to take Bolin in. It would be easy, too. Bolin was an energetic and happy kid, and any family would be lucky to have him. Chances of a family wanting two brothers was grim, but as long as Bolin was safe and happy, Mako knew that that fact alone would keep him warm at night. Yet, once the sun rose over the city once more, and Bolin blinked sleepily at his brother, with a look so full of trust and love, Mako knew he couldn't do it. It was selfish to deprive Bolin of all the opportunities for a new family, but Mako could not give up the only family he had left. Mako needed Bolin much more than Bolin needed his older brother.

Everyone always said how much Bolin looked like their mother, yet Mako could no longer see the similarities. He could no longer see his mother's vibrant smile and her deep chuckle. He could no longer smell the lemon scent that seemed to waft after wherever the woman went. When Mako was upset, he used to always bury his face in his mother's stomach, just breathing in that wonderful lemon scent. Now, even the smell of lemons turns his stomach. Mako would find himself staring at his brother, hoping to see a bit of his mother, but the image of his happy, vibrant mother was gone.

No one ever tells you how grey a dead human body can look. How all the color can be zapped out of a person, leaving a lifeless corpse staring endlessly at a world they can no longer see. The rosiness of his mother's cheeks seemed so absent, it was like it was never there. Somehow, even his mother's chocolate hair seemed grey. It is as if the body knows there is no longer a soul, and all the color left to find its soul in the spirit world.

No one ever tells you how still a body can be. Even when in sleep, a person is always moving. They are breathing, they are tossing and turning, twitching, and so full of life. Once that movement is gone, the body looks unnatural. Mako knew from the moment he laid eyes on his mother that she would never move again, but a primal part of his brain could not accept that fate.

Almost like a newsreel playing over and over in his head, Mako can clearly recall every second of when he found his mother's body, and soon after, his father's laying not much further away. It was an out-of-body experience, watching himself kneel before his mother, too afraid to touch her, but screaming and crying in her face to just wake up. Just wake up! In that very moment, Mako felt as if nothing could be worse, but he was wrong.

Even worse than seeing his parents in an eternal sleep, was having the burden to tell Bolin. To tell Bolin that Mom and Dad were not waking up, and that they would never wake up again. It was as if Mako had metamorphosed into death himself, and was trailing the corpses of his parents behind him in a show of what exactly he had done. Mako wondered if Bolin blamed him for his parents' death, because Mako sure blamed himself.

No matter how much blood was spilt or what the doctors told him, Mako always wondered of what would have happened if he was there just a few minutes earlier. If perhaps he screamed a little louder, cried a little harder, or even loved them just a little bit more. As if his parents were on the other side of the veil, just waiting for their son's love to pull them through, but at the end, he had failed them. Now his parents were forever lost behind the veil, left to wander the spirit realm, believing their son didn't even love them. Mako wanted to ensure that Bolin would always feel loved, even if it killed him.

Digging through some trashcans, Mako's luck seemed up as he could not even find the tiniest scrap of food clinging to discarded waste. He didn't even need much, just enough to get Bolin through the night. Mako could deal with hunger, but he could not handle the low rumbles his brother's stomach made in the dead of night. It was a haunting moan, taunting Mako for his inability to care for his younger brother. He just wanted one thing in his life to go right, just once.

"Why, don't you look hungry, little boy," a voice broke Mako from his reverie. Somehow, Bolin had gotten separated from his brother, and was now in the clutches of an old man, whose eyes shone of hunger too wrong for a boy of Mako's age to understand.

"Back away," Mako yelled, holding his thin arms in front of him, hoping to intimate the much older (and much bigger) man.

The man chuckled, further tucking Bolin under his arm. "Look at this little mouse, coming out of hiding."

"I'm no mouse!" Mako screamed, spit flying from his lips.

The old man leaned in close to Mako, flecks of tobacco seething from between his teeth. "And what are you gonna do, little mouse?"

"This!" Mako bellowed, as he let forth a huge wave of fire, engulfing the alley.

The fear in the man's eyes brought Mako a sort of satisfaction that he had never felt before. He enjoyed his fear. He wanted the man to hurt. This was Mako's vindication. He was strong enough to look after his brother, and nothing would stop him. Not hunger, not the elements, and definitely not some lecherous old man.

The older man fled the scene, leaving Bolin blinking in confusion. Mako panted in exertion; never before had he released so much fire. Before Mako could check on his brother, he was interrupted by the sound of clapping.

Turning around, Mako spotted their audience, a thin teen leaning against the alley wall, as if he had been standing there for the entire exchange. The teen might have been thin, but he definitely was not hungry. His clothes had the gleam of wealth, and no one could doubt that this stranger meant business.

"Pretty nice chops there, kid."

"Who are you?" Mako snarled, still on the defensive.

The teen raised his hands in surrender, "Woah there, kid, I mean you no harm. In fact, I have a business proposition that just might interest you."

Mako slowly lowered his hands, making sure to keep one eye on his brother. "What kind of business?"

"I just so happen to represent a group known as The Triad," the teen paused for effect. "Did I mention that we pay well?"

Glancing over at his brother, so small and wounded, Mako had only one answer in mind, "I'm in."


End file.
